


Fade To Black

by Kurayamin



Category: Metallica
Genre: Depression, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26355844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurayamin/pseuds/Kurayamin
Summary: Jason Newsted has been been mistreated by the other members of Metallica since the very beginning. At first he tries to shrug it off, realizing that the guys were still hurting from the death of their bassist, Cliff Burton. But as the years pass by, the hurt gets worse and worse. Then one night after a disastrous concert, Jason decides to end the pain by taking his own life. But luckily for him, there's someone who's not ready to let him call it quitsPlease read the tags.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 20





	Fade To Black

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is just that: fiction. While I used the likeness of real life people, my work in no war reflects who they are, what they believe, or anything they did. This is just for fun and I mean no libel towards them. I fucking love this band and was moved to make an alternate reality where they lived different lives. I'm also not making any money off of this, nor using it in any way shape or form to harm Metallica's image or the guys who make it up. 
> 
> Now that I think I've covered my ass, I hope you enjoy the fic!

Hello. My name is Jason Newsted and I'm the bassist of a little band called Metallica. Maybe you've heard of them? Yes? No? Either way, I'm sure you're wondering by now just what I'm doing standing on the roof of my hotel, five stories off the ground at buttcrack o'clock in the morning. Well, I'm going to show my bandmates that I can actually do something right and put an end to my fucking pathetic existence. 

You see, when I joined Metallica seven years ago, I'd been so excited. Those guys had been my fucking idols, playing the thrash scene back in the beginning just like me. So when word got around that the band was looking for a bassist to replace the late Cliff Burton, I was quick to audition. I'll admit that I felt like a piece of shit when I walked into that studio, I mean, how could I not? The poor fucker had only been dead for a few weeks and here I was, trying to take everything he had worked so hard to build. But I just couldn't let the opportunity to play with motherfucking Metallica pass me by. Although in retrospect, I kinda wish that I had.

Everything went perfectly in the beginning. I'd practiced all their material along with a few others for days, only taking a break when I passed out on my bass. It had been brutal, but then that's the name of the game when it comes to the music industry. But all of my intensive preparation paid off when I fucking blew James and Lars away during my first audition. They'd looked at each other wide-eyed before smiling and telling me to come back tomorrow for the final round that would determine who'd get Metallica's bass position.

I was so stoked to be on their short list that I didn't feel the least bit tired that night, which wasn't a big deal since I didn't plan on sleeping anyway. The next day, I was completely surprised when they called me in to audition first, even though I was at the tail end of the line. I'll admit that I may have been a little unprofessional when I saw all three of the guys there, but I think I played it pretty cool. Okay, I squealed like a fangirl, but can you really blame me? Anyway, I tore though my three songs, nailing each one as perfectly as I had the day before. After a brief discussion, it was decided then and there that I got the spot. Lars even went out into the waiting room and ordered everyone to go home.

After I joined, the label started breathing down our necks pretty hard, trying to get us to hurry up and continue the 'Damage, Inc' tour as soon as possible, because you know, money. But what's funny was that they didn't really have to do that. The guys were eager to get back on the road and finish out the tour as a way to honor Cliff's memory. They weren't about to let anything stop them, not even taking time to grieve the loss of their brother. I was made to practice the material almost around the clock, James only letting me take breaks when I would almost pass out from lack of sleep or food. Finally when they thought I was ready, they threw my ass on the tour bus and off we went. I really didn't mind any of it 'cause I would have done the same thing in their place.

Yeah, everything was prefect in the beginning. Until it wasn't. The first few shows went off without a hitch, and things were looking pretty good. But as time went on, the guys, especially James, kept finding faults in my performances. A late cue here, not standing in the proper spot there, a note that buzzed, you know, that sort of thing. They weren't wrong. I had never been in a band that was as high a caliber as Metallica and I had a lot to learn.. But no matter what changes I made, no matter how many extra hours I put into perfecting my music or leaning the stage show, nothing seemed good enough.

For years I just wrote off the band's bad behavior as them grieving the loss of their friend. I mean, I can see why James and the others were so pissed at me. Cliff had meant so much to the guys. Fuck, he had been an important part of their family. Then suddenly he's taken away from them and here I come waltzing in with a grin and happily take his place. I figured that if I just calmly took what they dished out and worked twice as hard, they'd see me that I wasn't there to replace anyone. That all I wanted was to rock out with the rest of Metallica and bring our music to the world. But as time went on, things only got worse.

The practical jokes and hazing were pretty fucking brutal on their own. I mean, it wasn't bad in the beginning. No musician got a spot in an established band without having to prove their worth first. That's just the way things are in any group of people. When it first started, I had thought I'd known what to expect. After all, this was the third band I'd been in and my last one, Flotsam and Jetsam, had fucked with me pretty hard. But I just wasn't prepared for just how viscous the other members of Metallica could be. 

Whether it was throwing ice water on me while I slept, or telling airport security that I was smuggling baggies of coke up my ass, they never missed an opportunity to fuck with me. I mean, there's a big difference between de-tuning a guy's guitar right before a gig and completely taking the fucking thing apart. Then there was the time James made me take thirty shots of vodka in order to prove that I had what it took to be in 'Alcoholica' , because otherwise I was out of the band. Yeah, that one ended with me going to the ER to have my stomach pumped just minutes before my blood alcohol levels would have killed me. And those are just examples of the physical stuff! I can't count the number of times the guys have racked up an insane room service or cleaning bill and charged it to my account. Honestly, I'm surprised that I have any money left.

Yeah, it was bad, but I could have handled it if it had only lasted six months or maybe a year. The problem was that it didn't. After seven fucking years, they're still at it. In fact, spiking my water I drink on stage with Visine to give me the runs, setting fire to the music and lyric sheets I gave them to review, and throwing all my stuff into the hotel pool including my amp are just some of the examples of what they'd done just tonight.

Then there were the insults, name calling, and other stupid shit that would hve worn anyone down if they'd had to listen to that crap day in and day out. I've been called 'idiot', 'moron', 'Newkid', and 'loser' so often that I'm always surprised when James actually remembers my real name when he introduces us on stage. Just like during the first rout, I'm always told how I'm not good enough to be in the band, how I'm dragging its good name down with me. That I can easily be replaced, and that no matter how hard I tried or how good I got, I would never be a true member of Metallica.

The abuse had become so bad that I've actually been thinking about leaving. As much as I loved the music and our fans, I just couldn't stand the thought of living one more day like I was. I dreaded waking up each morning, not knowing what cruel pranks or cutting comments I'd have to suffer through before nervously going to bed, not knowing if I'd be attacked in my sleep. See what I mean? No one can just shrug that crap off, not after seven years of living hell. But everything changed for me at last night's concert. I had a sudden moment of clarity that made things crystal clear.

Oh, things had started out just fine. We came out rocking hard like we always do to the screaming delight of twenty thousand fans. The first part of the set went beautifully, with everyone right on point, going through the show like the well-oiled machine Metallica had become. Then came the time for me to sing 'Enter Sandman' with James. As I added my background vocals, my voice somehow came out sounding wrong. My discordant singing clashed with James' who turned and gave me a look that told me to get my shit together or else. But no matter what I tried, I just couldn't harmonize with the man, despite the hours of practice we'd put into it on the way to the venue.

The more I messed up, the more angry James got, and the angrier James got, the more I messed up. It was a sick cycle that had me missing notes and cues right and left. Lars and Kirk had done their best to try and disguise my fuck ups as part of the show, but nothing could cover up my off-key caterwauling. That's when it hit me like a punch in the face. James and the others were right. I really was a shit-stain on Metallica's good name and all I was doing was letting everyone, including myself, down. 

All of the words I'd taken as cruel insults had actually been them trying to help me face the truth. I didn't belong in a band like Metallica. Shit, I didn't even deserve to breath the same fucking air as James and the others. I had fucked up their lives when I managed to fool them into hiring me and I was continuing to fuck them over seven years later. After all that I'd done, there was only one way I could possibly atone for my hubris. 

Looking back down at the street, I swallowed heavily, wondering how long it would hurt after I'd hit the ground. 'Probably not long enough for me to atone for much', I thought with a grimace. 'But it's better than having to force Metallica to play the cleaning bill if I offed myself in the room.'

Realizing that I was stalling, I climbed carefully up on the ledge on the building before I chickened out. Closing my eyes, I mentally went through all the people I loved and cared for and said my last goodbyes. After I finished, I took a deep breath, steeling my nerves and all that, when the door to the roof slammed open as it it were kicked. Startled, I almost fell off before I was ready, which is kind of ironically funny if you think about it. Clutching my chest, I could only watch in shock as James and Lars stormed out on the roof.

“There you are!”, shouted James angrily, looking a lot less drunk than he usually be by this time. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?”

I stood there stupidly, not knowing what to say when the drummer pulled out my farewell letter I'd left for the band. Damn it all. I'd been half hoping that they wouldn't find it until tomorrow, but then that's what I get for stuffing it between the bottles of Jack Daniels that our vocalist was saving for breakfast.

“He's being a little bitch, that's what he's doing!”, Lars snapped, waving the papers which caused the edges to flutter like the wings of a dying bird. “He's just trying to get attention because Mama Ulrich and Papa Het are mad at him for being a fucking screw up and ruining last night's concert!”

Just yesterday those comments would have hurt, would have added yet another bleeding gash in my heart and soul that never seemed to heal. But now all I felt was a detached calm as I realized that everything Lars had said was true. If I had really cared one shit about my bandmates, I'd have just shot myself in some god forsaken alleyway where no one would find my body until after they had moved on to the next gig. Instead I l had left a note that had dragged them up here in the early morning hours because in my heart of hearts, I was scared to die alone. I really was a little bitch.

“I'm sorry guys”, I said softly as I looked away in shame. “I'm sorry I'm such a pathetic loser. If I'd known just how...how much I'd let you guys, let METALLICA down, I never would have auditioned. I'm so sorry I wasted your time.”

Instead of agreeing with me like I expected, James seemed nervous, almost scared. “Jase, come on down from there. We can talk about this inside over a burger or something.”

Jase? I honestly couldn't remember the last time any of my bandmates used my name outside of a gig, much less my nickname. Usually it was 'Newkid' or 'Newfag' if they were feeling particularly playful amongst other insults. Even Kirk who treated me better than I deserved when he called me 'kid' or just the mundane 'man'. Before I could ask him why he'd used it, Lars took one look at me and started laughing.

“Come on James! We both know he doesn't have the balls to do it!”, the drummer said nastily. Turning to me, he gave me a challenging look as he waved his hand like he was trying to brush me off the ledge. “Well Newfag? Are you gonna jump or not? I have a nice line of powder waiting for me that needs my attention more than you do.”

I didn't answer him back, hell, I didn't need to. I knew what I had to do. But before I took out the garbage, I had to make sure James and Lars knew how I felt. I threw them a double set of horns as I smiled, putting all the love and affection I could into it for the two men who had meant so much to me.

“I'm sorry I couldn't live up to the Metallica name”, I told them sincerely as I felt a single tear running down my face. “I'm sorry I couldn't be Cliff.”

Feeling more at peace than I'd felt in the last seven years, I took a final step backward and out into thin air.

Time seemed to slow as I felt myself fall backwards. Dimly I thought I heard James screaming my name, but because of the sound of the wind rushing in my ears, I couldn't be sure. Suddenly both of my bandmates appeared at the edge, faces bone white as they watched me fall. Secure in the knowledge that I wouldn't be alone, I closed my eyes in bliss until I felt a horrific jolt of agony and everything faded to black.

OOOO

The first sensation that came to me from the darkness was the sound of buzzing from a florescent bulbs. You know, the older kind that puts out piss yellow light and have that hum that made you want to scratch out your own ears. No? Well, maybe it's just me then. Anyway, after the lights thing, I suddenly realized that I was laying on something hard, flat, and uncomfortable as hell. Groaning, I tried to sit up, but I just couldn't force my body to move, or even to get my eyes to open. I felt like one of those old generators that took forever to warm up and start working right. 

Laying there helplessly, I had to wait as my senses came back, one by one. Unfortunately that included my sense of pain. I hurt and I mean I really hurt, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember why? Trying to force my sluggish brain to start fucking working, I found that I couldn't remember much at all. Not how I got there, nor where I was, or much of anything else really. I kinda felt like I should be afraid at that point, but all I felt was a sense of peace. And pain. Can't forget the pain.

As my pain slowly ebbed away, I started to be able to take in my surroundings. Like how Black Sabbath was playing over an aging sound system and how the air had a slightly musty smell to it, like an old bookstore. I started to panic when I still wasn't able to open my eyes, but found out I could fix it when I could suddenly move my arms. Rubbing the gross crust off that had glued them shut, I was finally able to get a good look at where I was. The first thing I saw was that I was in some sort of building who's ceiling had been completely covered with posters of various bands. Oldies and newer groups were pasted side by side with ones I'd never heard of in a bizarre collage that hurt my head the longer I looked at it.

Feeling sick to my stomach, I rolled over onto my hands and knees for a moment before slowly climbing to my feet. Swallowing down a mouthful of bile, I looked up, trying to take in my surroundings. Unfortunately, the walls weren't much better than the ceiling had been, and it took a lot more effort to tear my gaze away from those upsetting pictures than it really should have. It was then I realized that I was surrounded by tables, racks, and bins that held a dizzying array of music in what could only be the greatest music store in existence.

Much to my surprise, this superstore not only carried CDs but records as well, something I hadn't seen in stores since the late eighties. It didn't stop there though. Cassette tapes and 8-tracks were heaped in tubs next to ones containing plastic little sticks and other strange objects that I could only assume contained music. In fact, the whole place was packed so tightly with the stuff, it made it more than a little difficult to get around.

Now normally I would've loved to spend hours just looking through this treasure trove of music, looking for rare gems and new groups to listen to, but the fact that I could barely remember my own name kinda scared the shit out of me. I snapped my head from side to side as I walked thought the massive store, desperately trying to find someone, anyone, that could help me. But no matter where I looked, there wasn't anyone else there. Feeling a sickening sense of fear and despair in the pit of my stomach, I'm this close to losing my shit when suddenly I'm not alone anymore.

Over in the far corner, one I could've sworn I had already checked, stood a man with long red hair. Dressed simply in black jeans, denim jacket and a faded Misfits t-shirt, the stranger seemed oblivious to my presence as he enthusiastically went through a stack of records. At the sight of him, I felt an inexplicable sense of deep relief. Hurrying over as fast as I could get my sluggish-ass body to move, I called out in a strangely muted tone of voice I barely recognized as my own.

“Um, excuse me! I know this is going to sound nuts, but I have no idea where I am or how I got here. If you could give me a hand, I'd really appreciate it!”

I let my words trail off as the younger man turned to face me. There was something about that face, those green eyes that I recognize, but I couldn't imagine from where. It was almost like the harder I tried to remember, the more the memory seemed to slip away.

“Hey man, do I know you from somewhere?”, I ask him uncertainly, but desperately needing to know.

The familiar stranger grinned at my question, causing his entire face to light up with joy. “You could say that”, he agreed in a warm voice, like one you'd use with a long lost friend. Turning back to the bin, he pulled out a record and held it up. “Have you listened to this one? I promise, it's pretty killer.”

Blinking in surprise, I had to focus hard on the album cover before I could make anything out at all. Then suddenly I could make out the name 'Metallica' emblazoned in black across the top of the harsh white picture while a spooky multicolored head seemed to scream and writhe underneath. The white words at the bottom proudly proclaimed the record's title to be 'Hardwired...To Self-Destruct''.

“Uh, I don't think so, man”, I say confused. “I don't think that one exists yet.”

The red-haired man just shrugged good naturedly and slid it back into the rack before walking over to me. “Yeah, I think you're right. It's still gonna be cool though, no matter which future plays out.”

Suddenly he reached out and pulled me into a hug, practically crushing me with the intensity of his embrace. “Fuck man, it's so good to see you, but you're not supposed to be here. Not yet.”

Dimly, I realized that I should have felt scared or at least a little concerned that a random man I'd just met was hugging me like we were old friends, but I just couldn't fight the urge to hug him back just as warmly. “I just couldn't take it anymore”, I confessed with a sob. “I just couldn't. I love the guys so much, but I'm just bad for them. Bad for Metallica. It's better this way.

I had no idea where my words were coming from, but they just felt right. All I could feel at that moment was pain and despair along with a desperate aching need to find some sort of peace. Suddenly my new (old?) friend's fingers were digging into my shoulder as he jerked me out of our hug and held me at arms length.

“Don't you say that Jase”, he snarled angrily. “Don't you ever say that. You dying isn't going to help anyone with anything.”

“What do you mean?”, I asked him nervously, now fully feeling the fear that had seemed so distant before.

“I love those guys, I really do, but they're morons. They're lashing out at everyone in the hopes that something will take away their guilt and pain. Jason, they care about you, I mean really care, but it's easier to use you as a whipping boy than try and work out those feelings. They royally fucked up when it came to you, and now they realized just how fucked up things had gotten.”

“But-”, I began, only to be cut off.

“There are no butts”, the red-haired man said with a smile. “What I said to you was the God's honest truth. Come on, man. You know I could never lie to you.”

And I do know it. I'm not sure how, but I know that he would never lie to me or try and fuck me over with the same certainty I had that my name was Jason Newsted. “So, what do I do now?”, I ask hesitantly, sounding more like a lost child than the adult that I was.

Still smiling, the strange-yet-familiar man let go of my arms and took a step back. “Well, that depends on you, Jase. I managed to get you the choice I never got to have. You can either stay here with me, or you can go back and change history.”

He paused and looked up at the nauseating swirl of posters for a second before leaning over so his mouth was next to my ear. “I'm not really supposed to influence you one way or the other, but just remember this. I'll always be here waiting for you when it's time for you to come back. The guys. They need you right now and they need you bad. They'll move on if you choose to stay, but they'll never recover from it. Not after it happened for a second time.

Suddenly faced with such an enormous decision, I felt my fear rising until it would have become a panic attack if I'd actually needed to breathe here. At my friend's urging, I closed my eyes and went over my life up to this point, trying to see beyond the pain, beyond Metallica's pain. Trying to see if I really wanted to wake up or just say 'fuck it' and take my chances here. But even after everything James, Lars, and Kirk had put me though, I wasn't done. My bandmates- no, my family needed me and I couldn't do anything for them here. Making my choice that really wasn't a choice, I opened my eyes.

“That's what I thought! The members of 'Tallica are just way too metal to stay down when life hits us below the belt!”, the red-haired man said with that same joyful smile he'd had when we'd (first?) met.

After throwing up a double set of horns, which I happily returned, he gently took me by the shoulder and gave me a little shake. “Now Jason, this isn't going to be easy, but if you cared about easy, you wouldn't have put up with their bullshit for over seven years.”

I nodded as hard as I could at my friend's words. Now that I could see things more clearly, I found that I was eager to resume things from where I had left off. I didn't know if it would work out, but I wanted to try.

We gave each other another hug before the red-haired man grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me through the store, weaving around the impossible amounts of music until we reached the exit that led outside. The doorway was glowing with such a bright light, that I could only look at it for a second before I had to turn away. Staring down at my scuffed boots, I went to push the handle, but before I could open it, the red-haired man quickly grabbed my arm, stopping me.

“Before you go, I want you to take these”, he said with a twinkle of amusement in his eye.

As the younger man opened a closed fist over my hand, I automatically cupped it in order to catch the small triangles just before they fell. Picking up one of the pieces of plastic, I was surprised to see that it was a sparkly orange guitar pick, emblazoned with the stylized M and A of Metallica which was twisted together until they looked like a moving flame.. Confused, I looked over at the other man who only laughed and shrugged.

“Yeah, I know I never used 'em, but they were fun to flick at Lars when he decided to go off on a drum solo tangent.”

Once again the strange man paused and looked up at the ceiling before pulling out a piece of paper from his front jacket pocket that had been haphazardly folded until it small enough to fit the palm of his hand. “Oh, and if you don't mind, I'd like you to give this to James and have him read it to the guys.”

He waited until I nodded, happy to repay his kindness in any way I could, before handing over the note. As I stuffed the picks and his message into my pockets, the red-haired man clapped me on the back and gave me a little push towards the door.

“Now get the hell out of here before I get my ass kicked more than I already am”, he said with a laugh. 

Giving him one last set of horns, I push open the door and step out into the blinding light. As it started to overwhelm me, I suddenly remembered who the red-haired stranger was, although we'd never met in life. Whirling back around, I looked into a set of amused green eyes and had just enough time to shout “Thanks Cliff!”, before the door swung shut and I was completely consumed by the pure white of nothingness.

OOOO

The first sensation that came to me from the darkness was the sound of steady beeping. You know, the kind that drills into your skull until you want to hit what was making it until it stopped. No? Well, maybe it's just me then. Other creepy sounding noises soon joined the beep, pretty much guaranteeing that I wouldn't like wherever I was. More than a little freaked, I tried to force my body to move, but I found that I couldn't even get my eyes to open, much less get anything else to work.

'At least I'm not on the floor this time', I thought to myself, although I had no idea why.

That's when the pain hit me like a kick to the balls.

Agony the likes I'd never felt before in my life wracked my entire body until it felt like every goddamn nerve I had was on fire. Biting my tongue until I drew blood, I did all that I could not to scream, not knowing what would happen to me if I did. It seemed the safest course of action since I had no fucking idea what the hell was going on. Little by little, the pain slowly faded away until it was just on the right side of 'tolerable'.

Now that I could think past how shitty I felt, I concentrated on my next task; finding out where the hell I was. It took ten minutes of intense struggle, but I finally managed to get my eyes open. After looking around in confusion, it took me several seconds before I finally realized that I was in a hospital bed of all things. Disbelieving, I first touched the IV line that I saw had been inserted into the back of my hand and then to the thick fluffy collar that held my neck painful straight and made it difficult to move.

Nothing about this made sense! I was just fine when I left...left... Where had I been again?

Suddenly feeling the intense need to get the hell out of there, I jerked the covers back only to see that I was wearing the skimpiest hospital gown I'd ever seen before in my life. With its scooped neckline, it was easy to see the heart monitor strapped to my chest, which I guessed explained all that fucking beeping. Looking further down, I was horrified to see that both of my legs were in plaster casts which were completely covered in pornographic doodles. 

As I sat there stunned, trying to take it all in, I heard a loud snore next to my ear. Weakly turning my head, I had to wait for my eyes to focus until I could make out Lars of all people sitting in a chair beside my bed. The drummer was slumped fast asleep with his head leaning over the back in a way that I knew from experience would hurt like a bitch when he woke up. What was even more surprising than him being here was that his face and eyes were puffy and red, almost like he'd been recently crying and crying hard. Honestly, that freaked me out more than waking up in a hospital all beaten to hell had. I'd never seen anything upset the Danish man to the point of tears in the seven years I'd been with Metallica and I couldn't think of a reason for him to be upset enough to now.

That's when everything came rushing back like a punch to the face. 

I remembered everything. When I'd decided to end it all. When I'd stepped off the roof. When I'd woken up in that strange ass record store and had spoken with Cliff... I couldn't move as I replayed the encounter over and over in my head.

The sense of familiarity that I'd felt when I'd first saw the other bassist had been so strong, like we'd been friends for an uncountable number of years. Without knowing how, I could list off the other man's likes and dislikes, his favorite foods and favorite songs. Hell, I even knew his favorite sexual positions, even though I'd never met Cliff before in my life! 

My brain seemed to stutter and skip as I tried to understand what had happened to me, when suddenly I was gasping for air and my blood seemed to freeze in my veins. It was almost like I was drowning, trapped under ice where no one could hear my screams for help. Then I felt a comforting presence and I was safe and sound in my hospital room once more.

“Think you”, I whispered gratefully, just as I felt something in my hand.

Opening it, I found a sparkly orange guitar pick, emblazoned with the stylized M and A of Metallica which was twisted together until they looked like a moving flame. Holding my breath in awe, I held the small piece of plastic close to my chest just as Lars woke up from his nap. Groaning, he sat up and stretched before looking over at me with sad bloodshot eyes. He started to look away before doing a double take when he realized that I was sitting up and watching him.

“JASON!”, he yelled in disbelief before throwing himself at me.

I froze in shock as Lars, tough-as-nails, hard-ass, always-busting-my-balls Lars threw his arms around my neck and just started crying. Not just a few man tears either. It was full on sobbing, like he'd lost one of his best friends. For a few seconds, I was terrified that something had happened to Jason or Kirk while I was gone, but then I realized he was crying about me.

I'll admit that I hesitated for a few seconds before I leaned into his embrace, but it wasn't because I was mad at him, not any more. Not after all that had happened. It was because I had dreamed of the guys accepting me for so long that I was afraid if I even breathed, I would find myself back to when I was falling, just moments before I hit the ground. When reality stayed the way it was supposed to, I hugged Lars back just as hard while tears started to stream down my face.

“Goddamn it Jason!”, he sobbed brokenly as he held me close. “I never should have pushed you to jump like that. Fuck it. I never should've made you feel like you had to in the first place! I'm so fucking sorry!”

There was just so much to his words; pain and despair, self-loathing and regret, that there was only one thing I could possibly say. “It's okay man, I forgive you.”

Lars pulled away and looked at me with disbelieving eyes, looking so open and vulnerable that I blushed and looked away. After a few moments of silence, the drummer grabbed my shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. Curious and more than a little moved, I looked back.

“Don't you ever do something that stupid ever again, you hear me?”, he said warmly, giving my shoulder another squeeze. “'Cause if you do, I swear to God, I'm gonna kick your ass.”

Before I could say anything back, the door to my hospital room flew open like it had been kicked, making it bang against the wall like the sound of a gunshot. Talk about killing the mood!

“Foods here!”, James announced loudly as he strolled in holding an obscene amount of take out bags. The blonde was busy looking at the receipt and so didn't notice anything was amiss as he read it out loud. “Okay Lars. I got your double cheeseburger with everything on it, hold the onions, a large fry, an extra large diet Coke, and a couple of those nasty apple pies that taste like ass you love so much.”

Kirk was following close behind him, carrying a cup holder full of drinks and looking like he was going to cry. As he glanced over at me he froze in surprise, obviously not expecting to find me awake and aware. The sodas slowly slipped from his grasp until they fell and exploded with an impressive splash all over the floor. 

James cursed violently as the freezing cold liquid soaked the back of his legs before he spun around on his heel, glaring furiously at the other man. “What the hell Kirk!”, he snapped, his blue eyes blazing, but trailed off when he followed the other man's astonished gaze.

“Um, hey James. Hey Kirk”, I said timidly as I gave my other bandmates a wave.

As James stared at me in disbelief, I couldn't help but submissively looking down at my lap. Honestly, I was more than a little afraid at how the blonde was going to react. to my attempted suicide. The man bent over backwards and jumped through hoops to keep Metallica's badass image as tarnish free as he possibly could, so I couldn't imagine he'd be too happy with me. James could have a terrible temper, especially when drunk and it was something I'd been on the receiving end many times during my time with the band. So as you can imagine, I was taken completely by surprise when he haphazardly threw the bags of food in the vague direction of one of the hideous chairs and ran across the room to envelope me in a crushing bear hug.

“Oh fuck, Jase. I thought we'd lost you!”, he croaked hoarsely, his voice filled with even more grief and pain than Lars' had. “They said that you would never wake up, but I knew they were full of shit. If you could put up with fuckheads like us for seven goddamn years, you weren't about to let a little fall take you out!” 

Feeling a whole shit-storm of emotions that I knew would take days to sort out, I happily hugged the bastard back. It seemed like everything Cliff had told me was true, not that I'd doubted him. Through a series of horrific missteps, the pain the members of Metallica had felt over their friend's death had morphed into some kind of monster, one that bit, tore, and poisoned everyone around it. I'd just been the easiest target. After I'd tried to kill myself, they'd been forced to confront what they'd become and just how many people they'd hurt.

Finally letting me go, James grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a little shake, reminding me vividly when Cliff had done it back at the music store. 

“If you ever, EVER try that again, I'm going to-”, he began before I cut him off with a weak little laugh.

“Kick my ass. I know. But Lars promised first, so he gets first dibs.”

I got all the guys laughing at that one, which I considered a major victory and another sign of change. Before, they would've only laughed at me but now they were laughing with me. I had to admit that it felt pretty good. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood as James glared at Lars in a playful sort of way as he moved to the side to allow Kirk the chance to welcome me back to the land of the living.

I'd never really had a problem with Kirk when he was by himself. The guy had practically no ego and was pretty easy going when he wasn't hanging around James and Lars. The problem was, we'd been on tour practically full time since I'd first joined Metallica, so he was always around them. But that was all in the past.

“Are you going to kick my ass too?”, I joked as the lead guitarist took his turn giving me a hug.

“Nah”, Kirk smiled as he dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. “James and Lars already have that covered. By the time it was my turn, what was left would be way too gross to kick around. Instead, I'm going to do them one better. I'm going to donate all of your guitars to some preteen boy band so they'll have something to serenade all of their twelve year old fans with.”

“You wouldn't!”, I growled, my annoyance only partially feigned. 

I mean, I know I'd fucked up, but that was pretty damn low. Kirk, that asshole, only smiled and nodded, making me wince. It's not like I was planning on trying to take my life again or anything. Once was enough, believe me. But those guitars were my babies! 

After that we just talked about little things, intentionally avoiding the elephant in the room. We all knew that we'd have to talk about my suicide attempt eventually, including the band's behavior that had driven me to it. But right then, all we wanted to do was start building the fragile bridges that would lead us toward forming healthy relationships with each other.

Eventually James realized that we should probably clue my doctor in on my miraculous recovery. None of the guys seemed really enthused at the idea, but after a particularly spirited game of paper, rock, scissors, it was decided that Kirk would go and find the man. It was pretty easy to tell that my bandmates didn't think much of him, but if I wanted to get the hell out of there, getting the doctor to sign my release papers would be the first step.

The need to talk, to come clean about how I'd felt over the last seven years, seemed to build until I was practically vibrating with nervous energy. Unconsciously I played with my pick as we waited, the vibrant orange sparkly plastic catching and scattering the shitty florescent light overhead. Drawn to the bright flashes, James bent down for a closer look and then turned as white as a sheet.

“Lars!”, he hissed as subtly as the blonde rockstar possibly could, which was to say, not subtly at all. “Lars! Look at the pick!”

The drummer rolled his eyes and looked at the piece of plastic in my now still hand for a second before he looked back at James as if he'd seen a ghost. Which was fucking hilarious if you really think about it. Then they both looked at me with identical, 'How in the fucking hell could you possibly have that', expressions just as the doctor breezed into the room. Two nurses followed behind him panting as well as our now pissed off lead guitarist.

I could tell the man was a tool, even before he gave me a sickly sweet smile and made a grand display of reading my chart. Waving imperiously, he had the nurses jostle me around painfully as they fearfully took my vitals and checked the various injuries on my body. He waited until they had replaced my empty IV bags with new ones before he dismissed them with a snap of his fingers. 

“Well Mr. Newsted, you certainly gave us a scare!”, he told me with no real compassion in his voice. “I don't think it's unreasonable to say that you're lucky to be alive. Despite falling five stories, you only suffered two broken legs, a sprained tailbone, grade three whiplash, and severe bruising to your head, back, and buttocks. You must have quite the guardian angel looking out for you!”

With the image of Cliff still crystal clear in my mind, I could only nod wordlessly as I clutched the pick to my chest. My actions didn't go unnoticed by James and Lars who looked at each other in wonderment before adopting identical neutral expressions as Dr. Fucktard continued to drone on.

“I don't know if your friends told you Mr. Newsted, but you've been in a coma for the last six days. After reviewing your MRIs, I honestly didn't think you'd ever wake from it! Well, I guess it proves not even I can be right all the time!

As the jackass laughed at my expense, I flopped back down on my pillows. All I wanted was to go home, although I wasn't sure what that was while we were out on tour. As I continued to ignore my doctor as he went on and on about how great he was, I found myself worrying about what would happen now. I doubted I was in any shape to go back out on stage, at least not until I'd healed a little more. But I couldn't stand the thought of being sent back home alone to my shitty apartment while the others were out on tour. Just the thought of being alone sent a jolt of pure fear through my bod and straight to my heart.

Just then, James finally lost his patience with the doctor, which reminded me that I wasn't alone. Not anymore. I knew Metallica would have my back when it was time to figure out the future, just like they had it now. We just had to get the fuck out of here first.

“Yeah, yeah. We can all see that you're a great doctor and all”, James said in a tone that bordered on, but wasn't quite sarcastic. “But what do we need to do before we can take him home?”

Of course the vocalist's dislike went over Dr. Dumbass' head who took the comment at face value. Smiling, he gave my bandmates an obviously fake concerned look as he gravely shook his head.

“Take him home? Mr. Hetfield, I'm afraid you don't understand. Mr. Newsted will need weekly MRIs, physical therapy sessions, and of course daily mandatory psychiatric care. Why, he'll be lucky if he gets out in six months to a year. You can't rush things like this you know.”

Just the thought of having to stay in that hospital for even a week filled me with such despair that I couldn't even speak up on my behalf. Luckily, I didn't need to. My bandmates, who were quickly becoming my heroes, shared a smug look before Lars stood and walked ever so slowly over to my doctor. Now Lars may not seem that intimidating when he's performing or when he's acting like a sweetheart for the press, but he's a scary motherfucker when he wants to be. Just like he was now. Dr. Jerkoff stopped counting dollar signs and took a step back when the Dane stopped in front of him and folded his arms menacingly.

“And how long would you want to keep Jason if he wasn't a member of a multi-million dollar band?”, he asked calmly with a smile.

“Uhhh, what?”, quacked the doctor nervously as he slowly backed up towards the door.

“I said”, hissed Lars, no longer pretending to be friendly. “How long would you want to keep Jason if he wasn't part of a multi-million dollar heavy fucking metal band.”

The doctor's face paled before he made a sudden rush towards the door. Unfortunately for him, James was already there. Stopping so suddenly that he almost fell on his face, my piece of shit doctor flattened himself against the wall instead, looking as if he'd seen the devil himself. 

“I have an idea”, James smiled evilly as he loomed over the coward. “Why don't we get some of the doctors on the board of directors in here and see what THEY have to say.”

Suddenly my doctor was the most helpful he'd been since, well probably since he'd finished medical school most likely. Turns out all I needed was to get another MRI to check on my brain, a quick chat with one of the hospital shrinks to make sure I wasn't currently suicidal, and if everything looked alright, another day or two in the hospital. I wasn't thrilled at the thought of even staying there another minute, but it beat six months to a year.

By the time the guys were able to throw Dr. Facing-A-Major-Lawsuit out of my room and get me assigned to a new doctor, I was fucking exhausted. But as much as I would've loved to just roll over and sleep for the next forty-eight hours, I knew that it was time to have that talk with my bandmates. Problem was, I had no idea where to even start.

Once again, James came to my rescue. Sitting down next to me on the bed, he gave me a look I knew very well. It wasn't mean, or threatening, or any shit like that. It was more like, 'I know you're keeping something important back and you WILL tell me what it is because in the end, it's for your own good'. Wordy I know, but there you have it.

To understand what I'm talking about, you'll have to understand the dynamic in Metallica. You see, James and Lars are the two dominant as fuck members who are the driving force behind the band. They plow through all the bullshit that would otherwise done Metallica in. Kirk and I were the submissives that kept us glued together. 

Now being submissive often gets a bad rap, like there's something wrong with you if you're not constantly ripping off your shirt and picking fights with others. That's just bullshit. You can't run a restaurant with just head chefs in the kitchen and you couldn't have a band where everyone is fighting each other for the spotlight. What we had worked really well and was a big factor in why Metallica was still going strong when so many other thrash bands had failed. 

Well, not counting the poisonous parts that had led me to try and take my own life. But hopefully that ended here and now.

“Jase”, James rumbled softly but firmly. “We need to talk.”

“Yeah?”, I whispered back stupidly, my voice quavering with all kinds of emotional shit I wished to hell that I could hide. Hey, just because I knew we had to talk, it didn't mean that it didn't terrify the hell out of me. 

“Yeah”, he echoed back firmly. “I don't know how we let things get so fuckin' bad between us, but before we can fix this shit, me and the guys need to own up to all the messed up crap we put you through.”

And that's just what happened. They talked to me about the guilt and anger they'd carried since the accident that claimed Cliff's life and how the record company had pressured them into hiring me just weeks after his funeral. How hard it was for them to just carry on like usual as if their friend's death had no real meaning or impact on their lives. That's when they had the realization that all of that pain and anger had festered, had turned bad and then had been directed at me. It certainly took them long enough, but then it's easier to see a problem for what it is when you're on the outside looking in.

Now I'll admit that it didn't feel very manly, sitting around and talking about our feelings and shit like that. But it was necessary if we were going to stay the Metallica we wanted to be. It was really painful for me at first, but as we continued to talk, I felt all of the anger and resentment bleeding out of me. After seeing their raw grief and regret, I knew I couldn't hold on to past wrongs. They'd changed and so had I. So then I did the second most hardest thing I'd ever done in my life. I forgave them completely and unconditionally. As I felt the warm embrace of a friend I'd never know in life, I knew I made the right choice. 

Of course that's when Lars asked about the pick, the motherfucker.

Hesitantly, I started to tell my story. I started with that fucking disaster of a concert that seemed like it happened forever ago. As I talked, the guys looked more and more miserable until I thought James was going to cry. Until just then, I hadn't realized just how much my death would have hurt the people I loved and cared about. What I had thought would be a mercy to me and everyone else, turned out to be anything but.

But that's the thing, isn't it? When your entire world is made up of pain and despair, all you want is for it to stop so you can find some sort of peace. You don't think about how it might impact others, not because you don't give a shit, but because you literally can't. I guess I had a lot more in common with my bandmates than I'd thought.

Everything changed when I started talking about waking up in the record store. I told them everything I could, not holding a single detail back. I told them about what it had felt like, what it had looked like. I talked about all the music stored on mediums I knew and the ones I didn't. Then I talked about meeting Cliff. Lars glanced nervously over at my other two bandmates who likewise did the same, but no one interrupted my story.

Undaunted, I easily repeated the conversation I'd had with the other bassist word for word. It felt like the entire experience had been etched indelibly into my brain. I even told them how in that place, Cliff and I had been the best of friends since apparently forever. I think that's the part that fucked them up the most if I'm being honest. I can't say I really blame them. Finally I got to the part where I decided to come back and didn't know what else to say.

“That's when I woke up here”, I finished lamely as I continued to play with Cliff's pick.

At first I kept my eyes down, not really wanting to see how they were taking the news that I had hung out with one of their best friends in a place that existed between life and death. But after the silence stretched on, my nerves got the best of me and I looked up anyway. The guys were still staring at me with identical looks that screamed that they thought I'd gone off the deep end and lost it. Truthfully, I wasn't offended in the least, 'cause honestly, they were probably right. That didn't make my story any less true though.

“That's...uh...quite the story”, James began hesitantly, obviously trying not to upset my fragile and damaged mind any further than it already was. “But that doesn't explain where you got one of Cliff's old picks.”

“Oh, this?”, I said airily while giving the vocalist a look that I hoped made him feel as stupid as I thought he was at the moment. “Cliff gave it to me, man. He told me to flick them at Lars when he does his annoying impromptu twenty minute drum solos.”

My statement was met with dead silence. The guys may as well have been wax figures for all they were moving. Seeing them like this was so hilarious that I couldn't help myself. I took my pick and flicked it at Lars, the triangular piece of plastic hitting him in the forehead before bouncing back over to me on the bed. Picking it up, I tossed it in the air again and caught it with a flourish.

“Well, he wasn't wrong!”, I smiled just as I remembered the letter. “Oh yeah. He had something for you guys too.”

I didn't need to ask for my belongings or even search for the piece of paper. I knew exactly where it was as if Cliff had whispered its location into my ear himself. Turning slightly, I dug under my pillow and pulled out the folded note along with the other bright orange picks. Putting them in my lap, I held out the folded piece of paper to James who looked at it as if it were made of razor blades.

Finally, he reached out and took the note with shaking hands. The blonde paused for a moment and gave me a look I couldn't understand before unfolding it and began to read. I knew I should have given the man his privacy, but I couldn't help but watch as emotions skittered across his face. Wariness gave way to surprise and then to guilt which turned into a look of deep soul wrenching grief. 

Finally as James came to the end, he started to laugh and cry at the same time. I saw this look of peace and love cross his face as he held the letter to his chest for a few moments before reverently passing it on to Lars. As the drummer began to read, the vocalist pulled me into a hug, holding me close before reluctantly letting me go. 

Curious at what made the normally standoffish man hug me twice in one day, I turned to look at Lars who had the same expression on his face that James had as he passed the letter onto Kirk. Then he gave me a hug as did the lead guitarist when he was done as well. Let me tell you, by then I really wanted to know what was in that letter! Luckily, I didn't have long to wait. As soon as they were done hugging everyone, I was finally handed the note and then I began to read.

“Hey guys. It's been a while, huh? I'm really sorry that I left you the way I did, but then it's not like I really had much of a choice. There's so much I want to say, but I don't have much time before Jason gets here, so I'm gonna have to be blunt.

James, I know you keep replaying the accident in your head, but what happened that night wasn't your fault. It wouldn't have mattered if you'd pulled a card instead of sleeping in the lounge or if you'd assigned bunks in the first place. I mean, things may have played out a little differently, but it would've ended the same. I was needed here and there's nothing that you or anyone else could have done that would've changed that.

Kirk, remember when we found out that we had enough money to use as a down payment for a house? Well you'll be happy to know I have a place here and the gun that shoots knives, just like I'd always wanted. I really miss our acoustic jam sessions when we'd get fucked up on shrooms and watch monster movies together.

Lars, you're just as bad as James when it comes blaming yourself. My death wasn't your fault either man. I wanted to be in Metallica as soon as I saw that you guys were willing to move to San Francisco in the hopes of getting me to join your band. That takes real balls and a dedication that I respect even now. I made my choice and what happened after is on me.

Guys, I know you're still hurting, but what the hell were you thinking? By now I know you see just how destructive and deadly that anger, pain, and rage can be to those around you. Jason's an amazing bassist and if I'd been able to choose, he's the one I'd have picked to replaced me. He fucking loves you and Metallica just as much as I did when I was alive. You need to get your shit together or you're gonna lose him and this time it WILL be your fault.

I want you guys to write an angry album with a godawful sounding snare, get some therapy, and talk this shit out. It's not too late to do the right thing. It's going to be hard, but if the members of Metallica took the easy way out, then we wouldn't be Metallica.

I miss you guys so much. If you ever feel like you need me, just remember that I'll always be looking over your shoulder, trying hard to make sure you don't do more shit you're gonna regret. Somebody has to, and I guess that's gotta be me.

~ Cliff \m/

P.S. Hey Jase, try and give the guys a little slack while they work this shit out. I know they're the ones who wronged you, but they're gonna need some support and love. For the rest of you, try and not fuck up your second chance.

After I'd finished reading, I took my time refolding the letter as I tried to fully digest what I'd just read. Unable to find the words that I wanted to say, I looked over at my bandmates and felt a connection, a real connection, with them for the first time. As they looked back with tear streaked faces and radiant smiles, I know that they'd felt it too. I knew that they'd always miss Cliff. I would too, especially since he was as much my friend as he was theirs. But I was one of them now and now that we were united, I knew that Metallica was going to fucking rock the world.


End file.
